


Mikkel's Winter

by Kiraly



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Minor Character Death, References to Depression, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 20:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: After the battle of Kastrup, Mikkel struggles to put his life back together and support his family. Ten years later, a battle in the Silent World brings about a new wave of tragedy - and a new family, of sorts, to help through it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone ask for Mikkel SadFeels? No? Well, somehow I ended up writing them anyway.   
> Several things led to the creation of this fic:  
> 1\. The vast mountain of sad feelings I have about Tuuri right now. Specifically, the thought that if she and Reynir were an item (which, well, you all know where my little shipper heart lies) they wouldn't be able to say goodbye properly, since he can't even go near her. This is as close as I will get to being able to write the angst fic based on that scenario, so I guess now is a good time to mention that this has some background Reynir/Tuuri going on. It is first and foremost a fic about Mikkel though, so I'm labeling it gen.
> 
> 2\. The song _[Winter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxOQV6epL4Q)_ by Noah Gundersen. I was listening to it a while back, and as soon as I heard the first few lines I thought "OH MY GOSH THIS IS A MIKKEL SONG". I've included the first few lines at the beginning of the fic, but I highly suggest listening to it too. 
> 
> 3\. The way Mikkel has been reassuring everyone on the crew ever since chapter 15 started. Every time he tells someone that all will be fine, I get more worried that it won't...but I also feel like it says something about his character, and I wanted to explore that. (For future reference, the last page as of posting this is [698](http://sssscomic.com/comic.php?page=698).)
> 
> One last note: This fic is pretty sad and involves a lot of talk about dealing with grief, mentions of depression, and survivor's guilt of the "I wish it had been me instead" variety. I like to think the ending skews hopeful, but I want to make sure you know what you're getting into before reading.

_All things pass with time_  
 _Old trends, old friends_  
 _Fitting for the month that Michael died_  
 _Buried in a stone cold riverbed, where the watershed divides_  
  
_Oh come colder weather_  
 _Oh come something better please_

* * *

 

A week after the defeat at Kastrup, Mikkel still wasn’t sleeping well. Falling asleep wasn’t the worst of it; he’d struggled with insomnia for years, and had developed coping mechanisms. Nor were the nightmares the worst part, because he was no stranger to those either, and expected them. The worst part was waking up in his childhood bedroom. There was a split second, every morning, when the familiarity of home was a comfort. And then he remembered.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

“Sleep well?”

“Mmm.” He’d never been one to talk much before breakfast. His mother knew that, respected his need for quiet after the usual greeting. Not everyone in the family did, of course; once the younger children woke up, they’d fill the kitchen with chatter. Usually, they’d be joined by his father, whistling on his way in from the early chores, and Maja, who’d never understood that mornings weren’t for talking.

Now, Morten Madsen kept to himself in the mornings, lingering over his chores. It gave him an excuse to stay out in the barn, away from the house. And Maja didn’t say much of anything to anyone, no matter what time of day. Especially not to Mikkel.

The house was full of Madsens. All of them home, except the one with the loudest laugh.

“I’m first for breakfast!”

“No, me, I’m first!” Mille and Malthe arrived, tripping over each other in their haste. Their mother made a disapproving noise, which they ignored, and they flung themselves down on either side of Mikkel. Mille grabbed for the porridge spoon; Malthe smacked at her hand and snatched it away. The two of them might have gone back and forth until one of them upset the pot, if Mikkel hadn’t caught the spoon and rapped both of them across the knuckles with it.

“Is that how you ask for breakfast now? With your fists?”

The young ones wilted under his stern voice. “No.”

“Can I have some porridge?” Mille asked.

“Please?” added Malthe.

Mikkel ladled two bowls full. “You may.”

With their mouths full, the quiet returned. The quality had changed, though. Where before, Mikkel and his mother had kept to themselves through course of habit, now they held back their words for a different reason. The weight of unspoken pain, carefully kept from the children, hung between them like herbs drying in the rafters. Mikkel spooned porridge into his own mouth to cover his silence. It didn’t taste like anything, but nothing did these days.

Mille finished first, like always, and started up the flow of conversation again. “So you’re still home! Are you going to stay this time? We’re about to start learning Icelandic in school, and Malthe thinks it will be hard but with you here to help us study—”

“I do _not_ think it’s hard!” Malthe said, having finished too, _“You_ said that, I never—oh, Maja! We beat you to breakfast, you’re sooooo slow today!”

Again, the adults’ silence shifted. Maja stood in the doorway, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Her face was shadowed from lack of sleep; Mikkel knew he was not alone in his restless nights. She said nothing, simply reached for a bowl and the ladle.

“Ooh, Mikkel’s gonna yell at you, not asking for breakfast!” Mille said. Maja didn’t even look at her, just took her bowl to the other end of the table. Mille opened her mouth again, and Mikkel laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Leave it.”

“So if you’re home,” Malthe said, scraping up a last bit of porridge, “and Maja’s home, when is Michael coming home?”

The words froze in the air. And just like that, the fragile morning peace crumbled away.

* * *

 

Several days after the troll attack, morale was...low. They’d settled into an uneasy routine, each working at their respective tasks. For Sigrun, that meant stewing by the fire, keeping an eye out for trolls and chafing at her forced inactivity. Tuuri, on the other hand, was constantly busy, trying one thing after another to get the tank running again. Every once in a while she’d pause to touch her sore shoulder, then stop, grimacing, and return to her work. Mikkel took to sending Emil out to fish or hunt—partly because they needed the supplies, and partly to keep him from hovering over Tuuri. He sent Lalli too; his presence meant they were more likely to return with something edible, and it kept him moving. Left to his own devices, he stood wherever he ended up and stared into space.

Mikkel, for his part, was holding it together by holding the crew together. He did this in small ways: healthy debate with the captain about their future plans, an encouraging word to the struggling mechanic, and reassurance for the cleanser-turned-fisherman that no, of course they weren’t going to run out of food. And he made sure they all ate, even when the scout refused his favorite food and had to be...persuaded. Depression, Mikkel knew, could kill just as surely as a troll, and it wasn’t something a cat could warn you about. So when he found Reynir lying listless on the floor, he knew it was time for another pep talk.

“I will take you for a walk in three hours,” he said, offering a bowl of soup along with the words. Reynir’s bleak expression didn’t change. Mikkel tried a more direct approach.

“Am I to conclude that you too are now depressed?”

There was something jarring about being calmly assured that it wasn’t depression, just “crushing regret and helplessness.” The words sparked memories of a younger Mikkel, saying time and time again that he was fine, he was coping, he could handle things. Reynir was much worse at concealing his feelings though, so Mikkel persisted.

“As I told you before, we don’t know anything for certain. She may be perfectly fine. For now she’s doing her job, and when she fixes the tank we’ll be on our way. No sense in distracting her at this stage.”

“I know, she has an important job to do, I wouldn’t want to get in the way! It’s just…” his face crumpled, and he pulled his knees up to his chest, “I can’t do anything to help. I’d just be a nuisance if I tried, and everyone’s already so stressed.” He sighed. “And Tuuri...I _really_ can’t help her. I’m not even allowed to hug her anymore, or…” he trailed off, but Mikkel already knew how the sentence ended. He hadn’t missed the shy glances, or the muffled giggling that drifted out of the tank when the two had been quarantined together. He’d been amused at the time; it was too easy to tease Reynir until he blushed, and Tuuri had responded to his sly comments with rolled eyes and smug grins. Now, it only made everything worse.

“It won’t make anything better if you try to see her,” he warned. “She wouldn’t want you to risk yourself, would she?”

“No, I guess not.” Now Reynir looked even more miserable. “I just...I hate this. She must be so scared.” He buried his face in his knees, and his next words were so quiet Mikkel almost missed them. “I wish it had been me, instead.”

* * *

 

Maja’s spoon clattered to the floor. Her face had gone white, and she pushed the bowl away hard enough to slop porridge over the side. She met Mikkel’s eyes across the table, and for a moment all the pain and rage spilled out into her expression. Then she tore her gaze away and stood.

“He’s not coming home,” she said. Her voice shook, but it was more of a snarl than a sob. “Michael’s never coming home again. And it’s _his_ fault!” A finger, outstretched, pointing at Mikkel. With that, she turned on her heel and fled.

Mikkel didn’t quite dare to look at the children. They hadn’t been told; their parents were still working on a way to break the news gently. As if there was any way to be gentle when telling someone their brother was dead.

Instead, he looked at his mother, who stood frozen with her hands still buried in the bread dough she was kneading. Her usually serene face crumpled; she turned away. When she looked back, she appeared to have aged several years.

“Should I go after her?” Mikkel asked. Any moment Malthe would speak up, or Mille, and they’d have to answer the question no one wanted to voice, but maybe if he tried to talk to Maja again—

“No, I’ll go.” His mother wiped her hands on her apron. “She’s upset, and you know she won’t—it’s better if I go.” She paused by the door. “If you could take care of...this...it would be a big help.”

Of course. Whether she meant the bread or the children, she knew Mikkel would take it on. Babysitting was the one job he never got fired from.

“Mikkel...what did Maja mean?” Malthe prodded his arm with his spoon, leaving a sticky spot of porridge on his sleeve.

“Why isn’t Michael coming home? Doesn’t he like us anymore?” Mille clutched at his other arm, fingers tight.

Mikkel shook his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s—” his throat closed over the words. He rose to his feet and made his way over to the abandoned dough, still bearing the impression of his mother’s hands. The children trailed after him. They waited, quiet for once, while he kneaded and felt out the shape of what he had to say.

“You remember that Michael was serving in the army?” Nods. “He was stationed near a place called Kastrup, quite close to the Silent World. I...I was there, too. For a while.” Talk of army bases and military service was nothing new to them; even here, in the safety of Bornholm, everyone knew the world held dangers. “There was a big battle. They were trying—but that doesn’t matter. What matters is, Michael was there, and he fought.” For a stupid, senseless land-grab. It was supposed to push them forward, send Denmark closer to its former glory. And now, all the reports Mikkel couldn’t avoid said it had set them back decades.

“And...what happened?” Mille asked. Most of the time, she liked their war stories. But now her voice was quiet, not bright with excitement.

“It was a loss.” If this were an old story, he’d call it a slaughter, a massacre. He couldn’t use those words, not for something so fresh it still bled. “Many, many people died. And Michael…”

“No,” Mille breathed, catching on at last, “Don’t say—”

“Michael was one of them.”

“No. No, he can’t be, he can’t!” Mille was shrieking now, and tears pooled in her eyes. Malthe stayed silent; when Mikkel looked down, his face was pale and his lip quivered. Then Malthe sunk soundlessly to the floor, and Mille threw herself down to wail and beat her fists against Mikkel’s legs. He set the bread aside and dropped down beside them. He held Malthe and let Mille rage. It was all he could do; the screaming, silent thing inside him, the hole where his twin belonged, wouldn’t allow anything else. There were no words to make this better.

* * *

 

“Maybe it would be better if you just left me behind.” Reynir sighed into his soup bowl. Mikkel raised an eyebrow, but kept his voice mild as her continued mending Sigrun’s jacket. Mild in tone, that is, but loud enough to be heard over the roar of the engine.

“That kind of thinking won’t help anything, Reynir.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Reynir said. He slumped against the bunk. “It’s just, I’m just so useless and—”

“No.” Mikkel heaved himself up, crossed the floor in two steps and crouched in front of Reynir. “It’s natural to regret what happened to Tuuri. But you can’t fix it by wishing it on yourself instead.”

“But if the troll had gotten me—”

“It would have helped nothing.” Mikkel sighed. Already dealing with survivor’s guilt when nothing had actually happened. If Reynir had seen him ten years ago—but it wasn’t fair to wish that on him, any more than it was fair for Reynir to wish Tuuri’s fate on himself. No one deserved to feel the way Mikkel had after Kastrup. Even Mikkel hadn’t deserved it.

“Reynir, listen to me. Of all the people on this mission...you’re the only one who’s not supposed to be here.” Hard words, and he saw the effect they had. Reynir wilted.

“I know, I shouldn’t have come.”

“Which means,” Mikkel continued, ignoring him, “That of all of us, you’re the only one with no need to be useful. You don’t have to do _anything_ other than stay alive and unharmed.” Reynir was staring now. Mikkel plowed ahead. “All of us—myself, Sigrun, the boys, and yes, even Tuuri—signed up for this. We knew it was dangerous. Especially for Tuuri. There was always a chance, no matter how careful we were, that something could happen.” And something had, but they carried on anyway. The tank lived again; maybe, against all odds, Tuuri would beat the enemy facing her, too.

“But if I hadn’t been here—” Reynir said. Then he shook his head, frowning. “I guess that wouldn’t have made a difference. But since I am here...it feels like I should be able to do _something_.” He glanced at the sealed door that blocked him from Tuuri. “But how can I? I can’t even touch her!”

Mikkel picked up his mending and regarded Reynir with a thoughtful eye. “You know...sometimes, even the smallest gesture can make a difference.” Maybe it was foolish to give the boy even a scrap of hope. But if that got him through through the day, then it was worth trying.

* * *

 

Maja found him by the woodpile, staring at nothing with the axe held loosely in one hand. Her eyes were red—saying goodbye to the children always made her cry—but over the past weeks her anger had faded. They spoke, sometimes, brief conversations about the farm or her impending departure. She’d even met his eyes a few times. Now she took the axe from him, set it aside on the chopping block. They stood together in silence, letting the wind and the animal sounds drifting from the barn speak for them.

“I never should have said that,” she said at last. “You know, a few weeks back. About it being your fault.”

“I’m not sure you were wrong to say it.” She hadn’t been there, couldn’t know the truth. Her unit had moved on from Kastrup well before the battle, sent to deal with a problem further north. It had saved her life. Mikkel’s life had been spared too, but for less noble reasons.

“Don’t be stupid.” She folded her arms and looked away. “I’m trying to apologize. I know you couldn’t have stopped it, but—”

“We’ll never know what I could have done. I wasn’t there for him.” The last time all three of them had been together, Maja had told her brothers to look out for each other. They’d laughed, then, because the two of them always stuck together. Until suddenly Mikkel was on his way home, disgraced, and Michael was on his way to the front lines. He’d thought he was saving his twin. Dishonorable discharge didn’t look good on anyone’s record, and there was no reason for both of them to take the fall. He’d meant well. He’d just been wrong about which of them was falling.

“Mikkel,” Maja said, reaching up to put a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t blame yourself. If Michael was here, he wouldn’t—”

“If Michael was here!” The words burst out of him. “I wish he was. Maja, sometimes...sometimes I wish he was here instead. That it had been me.”

“Don’t say that!” Her eyes burned into his, sparking like they had so many weeks ago in the kitchen. “I lost one brother. I’m just glad I didn’t lose two.” She faced him squarely, nearly matching him for height. “So don’t you dare say that, Mikkel Madsen. We can’t bring him back, but we can live for him. I intend to. And I know you will, too.”

He had no words for her, but he didn’t need them, because she caught him in a hug. She held him for a long time, until he could breathe normally and his knees stopped shaking.

“Thank you,” he whispered, when she released him.

Maja wiped her eyes. “You’ve been taking care of everyone. At some point, you have to take care of yourself, too.” She leaned down to grab the axe and put it back in his hand. “Don’t stay too long, all right? I know you feel you’re needed here, but maybe you need to be somewhere else.”

Mikkel nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

 

“Oh! It’s you.”

Mikkel was half-asleep when the soft stream of Tuuri’s conversation abruptly switched to a language he could understand. It was his night to keep her company on her side of the tank; he didn’t mind the duty, since he’d be sleeping on the floor no matter where he bunked down. Normally she sat pressed against the door for a while before she slept, talking to Lalli through the wall. That didn’t bother Mikkel either, since it seemed to comfort her, and he couldn’t accidentally overhear anything personal when they spoke Finnish. The sudden words in Icelandic caught him off guard.

“I’ve missed you,” Tuuri said, wrapping her arms around herself. The person on the other side of the door said something in return, too muffled for Mikkel to understand. Not that it mattered. There was only one person it could be.

“Yeah. I’m sure you must be bored out of your mind, shut up in the back all day. Maybe Mikkel will let you out a little more? It’s not like you can catch anything from me if we both have our masks on, that’s—” she paused, listening. A sigh escaped her. “You’re probably right. It’s just...I miss you so much. But of course we have to be careful. You have to stay safe!”

Whatever Reynir said from his side, it made Tuuri shake her head. “Don’t be silly. Just because we can’t see each other, that doesn’t mean I don’t want—” another pause, longer this time. Tuuri turned to face the door completely, pressing her palm flat against it. “I don’t regret this, and neither should you, okay? No matter what happens.”

That, Mikkel knew, would be easier said than done. Regret had a way of coming back around, even after years of lying dormant. He appreciated the sentiment, though. Tuuri’s words rang with a determination he hadn’t heard in her voice for days, not since she insisted she could fix the tank. She’d been right about that. Maybe, just maybe, she’d also be right about this.

In any case, the conversation seemed to be doing her good. “I’m glad we could talk,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I really did miss you. With everything going on, it’s been pretty stressful, and...it’s just good to hear your voice.” The dim light made it hard to see, but Mikkel thought she smiled. “You sleep well, too. Will you talk to me again tomorrow? Good.”

The future remained uncertain. There would likely be heartache ahead, grief and pain in shapes they couldn’t see yet. A handful of encouraging words, a late-night conversation through a door, a fierce desire to help in any way possible: none of those things would radically change the path they were on. But Mikkel thought, as sleep claimed him, that such things made the journey bearable. He couldn’t really ask for more than that.

* * *

 

“I’ve been offered a new job,” Mikkel said. Over the past year he’d grown used to being home, to waking up in his own bed and filling his days with farm life. But lately, he’d felt the outside world tugging at him again. It was time to go, for however long this next job lasted. But first, he had to say his goodbyes.

“You’d be all over this one. It has all your favorite job perks: a crew of barely-trained misfits, terrible pay, and a mission that’s interesting _and_ impossibly stupid. I don’t know how I’ll contain my enthusiasm.”

Mikkel shifted into a more comfortable position, wincing as his knee creaked. “You’d also probably make fun of me for getting old. But then again, I could just mock you for the same. You _were_ born a few minutes before me.” He leaned against the headstone to rest his back. Michael wouldn’t mind; they’d shared a womb once upon a time, so this was nothing.

“The other thing is...well, I’ll be back in our old stomping grounds, at least part of the time. Our route will take us right through Kastrup. I never thought I’d go back, but you wouldn’t want me to miss this opportunity, would you?” He shook his head. “Of course not. You’d be first in line to the Silent World. Probably come back bragging. We’d scare the kids with troll stories, and impress our parents with the books we found.” Even after all these years, he could still imagine Michael’s laugh at the thought. Time dulled some memories, but others would stay with him forever.

“So long for now, Michael. Hard to believe it’s been ten years.” Mikkel stood, brushing stray bits of grass off his pants. “I’ll do my best to stick around for the next ten, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for the ambiguous ending. Although I fervently hope that Tuuri will be fine, at this point there's no way to know, and it didn't feel right to end this fic with anything conclusive.


End file.
